Frank spoke first. “It seems to me, Katie, that the old gentleman has gone out of his mind. What he means I have not the remotest idea. I am awfully sorry, Katie, for I like my uncle very much, he has been the kindest friend to me. As for his money, I have enough for us, dear, and he may do what he likes with it; but I am awfully sorry that he has gone out of his mind. I can only suppose he has been thinking over that Alice Heathcote affair, which I told you about, Katie, till he has fairly gone cranky.”
Katie was silent still, then she rose quietly from her husband's knee, and looked him fully in the face with those clear honest eyes of hers. “Frank, dear, you are my husband now, and I know you love me very truly, whatever you may once have done any other. Frank, dear, I am not a child, I know men—do things—before they are married—you know what I mean, Frank? Don't speak, please, or I can't go on. Now, Frank, if you have done any wrong thing—there can be no mistake what your uncle means—if you have deceived, it is no use mincing words, Frank, some one who had loved and trusted you, please tell me. I shall be sorry, Frank, very, very sorry. You will not be quite the same to me; I cannot think of you as I have thought of you before, but I can quite forgive you, because I know you love me now. But, Frank, I must have it from your own lips. I am your wife now, Frank, and nothing you did before you married me can make me cease to love you, if you only trust in me and tell me. But if I have it from other lips, Frank, if I find you deceive me, I must go away, Frank, even if it break my heart.” Katie's voice trembled now, and her eyes filled with tears.
Frank had once or twice tried to interrupt her, had tried to draw her towards him, but there was a sad dignity about the little figure which checked him until she finished.
“Now, Frank, tell me the truth, you may trust me, dear, to hear it, I am your wife.”
“My own darling Katie,” Frank said, rising and standing before her, “my own loving little wife, how dare you doubt your husband?”
Katie felt at once by the tone of his voice that her suspicions were groundless, and stopped him by falling crying upon his neck, “Oh, forgive me, Frank, forgive me, for doubting you. I was wicked and wrong, Frank. Oh, my husband, how could I doubt you? Don't say a word more, Frank, please, please don't; I never should have dreamed it, only I have heard that men look at these things in a different way to what we do. Say you are not angry, Frank, say you quite forgive me for doubting you.”
“You silly little darling,” Frank said, putting her back on her old place upon his knee, “there is nothing to forgive. It was natural enough for you to suppose that my crazy uncle must have had some reason for writing such an epistle as that. But it is not so, pet. I give you my word and honour that I have got into no scrape whatever, and that I have not the remotest conception in the world what he means or alludes to, except that absurd Alice Heathcote business. Are you quite satisfied?”
“Yes, yes, Frank, only I am so ashamed of myself for having doubted you.”
Katie required a good deal of petting before she could be reconciled to herself, and it was some time before the conversation again came round to the subject of the letter.
“It is really a very serious business, Katie. I never built upon Uncle Bradshaw's money, although if I had been asked, I should certainly have answered that I expected him to leave me, at any rate, half. Well, four or five thousand a year is no trifle, Katie. We have enough to live upon, darling, but for the sake of our heirs we must regret it.”